


Good News

by TogetherAgain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 2020 US Presidential Election, Awake the Snake (Good Omens), Just an American celebrating, NaNoWriMo 2020, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TogetherAgain/pseuds/TogetherAgain
Summary: Confused by the noise he was hearing and unwilling to look at any conventional news source, Crowley groggily searched for his phone. It probably would have been easier if he’d bothered opening his eyes, but that was neither here nor there. He found it under a nearby pile of pillows and paused to yawn before he pushed the button for Siri. “Call Aziraphale,” he said.Siri obeyed, and the barely awake demon heard a ring or two, and then, “Hello?”Oh, right. He had to talk. “There’s people cheering.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 111





	Good News

**7 November 2020**

Confused by the noise he was hearing and unwilling to look at any conventional news source, Crowley groggily searched for his phone. It probably would have been easier if he’d bothered opening his eyes, but that was neither here nor there. He found it under a nearby pile of pillows and paused to yawn before he pushed the button for Siri. “Call Aziraphale,” he said.

Siri obeyed, and the barely awake demon heard a ring or two, and then, “Hello?”

Right voice. Wrong greeting. The greeting _should_ have been something along the lines of _I’m afraid we’re closed_ , probably with a reminder to wear a mask, for good measure. Crowley was definitely too sleepy to process that discrepancy _and_ the cheeriness in the voice _and_ the noise from… his neighbors? Probably his neighbors. That was odd.

“Hello?” the right voice said again.

Oh, right. He had to talk. “There’s people cheering.”

“ _Crow_ ley!” Oh, that was a _much_ better greeting. But nothing else followed it.

“…Angel,” he grumbled. “ _Why_ are there people cheering?”

“Oh! Well, most _likely_ , it is because the results have _finally_ come in for the American presidential election.”

“…Hnnmmh,” Crowley said. _Finally_? What day was it? He kept his eyes closed and shuffled around until he was wrapped around a pillow. “It’s good news?”

“Oh, it is _delightful_ news,” Aziraphale said. And he did, in fact, sound delighted.

Huh. Well, that was promising. Maybe. “Dare I ask what the _incumbent_ has to say about it?”

“…Oh. Ah. Yes, about that.” He sounded much less delighted now. “Well, I know at least _some_ of his attempts to, ah, _sway_ things through their legal system have already failed. He _is_ saying that there will be more of that to come, of course. I believe he even posted on, ah… one of those social something… _sites_ that you like, on the internet. He said _there_ that he had _won_ , which of course is nonsense.”

Crowley let out a hum and a sigh. “Odds of any of his other _attempts_ to change things actually… _succeeding_?” he asked warily.

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “Well, as best I can tell, it will all come down to the courts, and of course the votes. On the one hand, he _has_ chosen many of the current judges and justices. On the other hand, none of them have given any indication that they will cater to _any_ of his delusions. And of course, the votes speak for themselves.”

“…They could actually get him out,” Crowley murmured. What he _didn’t_ say was: _Get him out IN TIME, before it’s too late, before it’s Hitler all over again or WORSE, please, please, please._ Crowley had seen Far Too Much of Nazi Germany, and his ability to cope with seeing anyone use even remotely similar rhetoric was… limited.

And Aziraphale _knew_ that, of course. He probably even heard what Crowley _didn’t_ say. “Yes, it appears they will,” the angel murmured soothingly. “I was _just_ thinking of pouring a toast, to the health of the new president-elect and vice president-elect. Perhaps you would… care to join me, for that?”

Crowley cracked open one eye and aimed it at his phone. “Oh, is that allowed now?” he said dryly.

Aziraphale let out a huff of air. “I _know_ I told you about support bubbles the _last_ time we spoke, Crowley,” he said. Crowley smirked at his pseudo-stern tone, which then faded as he added, “I’m sure they’ll be giving speeches at some point. It might be nice to watch. Although I suppose you _would_ actually have to get _out_ of _bed_ for that.”

“Wait… Go back.” Crowley rubbed his face and squinted at the phone with his one open eye. “ _Watch_ the speeches, at your shop… on _what_?”

“…Oh, of course! You don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “Well there has been so _much_ news lately, and the paper only comes _once_ a day, and with you being, well… indisposed… I felt I had to keep up _somehow_. So I bought a television set! Just a small one. It was _actually_ advertised as an _antique_! Can you believe it? As if televisions have even been _invented_ long enough for _antique_ ones to exist.”

“Yrgh, uh, they prob’ly have,” Crowley muttered, rubbing his face even more, just in case that would help this make sense. “Where the Heaven did you even _buy_ it? I thought you were staying in your _shop_! Obeying _guidelines_ and _social distancing_ and all that.”

“I have been!” Aziraphale said. “Following guidelines to the _letter_ , I’ll have you know. And… _ignoring_ the more ill-advised… _suggestions_. But, well, at _some_ point, I had a bit of… cabin fever, as it were.” The angel audibly inhaled, and then he actually started sounding _proud_ of himself, which was usually an ominous sign. “Do you recall that clever little computer I have for my taxes?”

With a faint sigh, Crowley reluctantly opened his other eye. “You mean the one you’ve spent the last thirty years _refusing_ to upgrade _just_ because a certain _Serpent_ recommended an _Apple_?” He wasn’t entirely sure that was the _real_ reason, and he wasn’t really offended by it (anymore), but that was no reason to stop complaining.

“Oh, so you do remember,” Aziraphale said flatly. “Well, I’ve managed to use it to access the internet! Apparently there are _many_ shops doing business online now, and—well, I can’t i _magine_ doing that with my _own_ shop, _obviously_. People could order _anything_ , and I would _have_ to _send_ it to them! In the _post_! Oh, I would _never_ dare. People have _actually_ called me to _ask_ if I had online sales, Crowley. Can you _imagine_!”

The outburst was reassuring. It meant that, as absurd as it sounded, this _person_ who claimed to own a television and use the internet possibly _was_ , in fact, still Aziraphale. Somehow. Crowley was having a hard time comprehending it. “…You’re… shopping online,” he said slowly. Just to make sure he’d heard right.

“Well, yes! A bit, anyway. I tried a few phone orders, but everyone I spoke with insisted that it _bothered_ them too much. They hardly know their own inventory, it seems. Or perhaps they just prefer for the computer to do all the math for them. I can certainly understand _that_ , at least. But this way, I can maintain a perfectly safe social distance, and still support a few local businesses! …And one in Scotland.”

_I am going to regret asking this_ , Crowley thought, but that had never stopped him before. “What did you buy from Scotland?”

“Oh, I’m _so_ glad you asked!”

_Yup. Definitely regret asking_.

“I have taken up playing bagpipes!” the angel announced.

There are no English words to properly convey Crowley’s thoughts about that, largely because of his abrupt _lack_ of thoughts. If you imagine a heart monitor flatlining while large red alarm lights start flashing, and add a vague sense that you would probably hear sirens if you weren’t suddenly in a vacuum, then you will have a decent idea of Crowley’s mental reaction. If you can’t imagine that, just know that Aziraphale dearly wished he could have seen _exactly_ how much the demon’s jaw had just dropped.

“…Bagpipes,” Crowley somehow managed to repeat.

“Mm-hm!” Aziraphale said brightly.

Crowley’s brain rebooted with a litany of profanity in mostly dead languages, starting with Hittite.

The thing is, bagpipes had been a pet project of Crowley’s for a few millennia. He hadn’t exactly _invented_ them, but he _had_ diligently influenced their design and spread, crafting them into something that would sound good when played by an expert while also being an inhumane form of torture when played by an amateur, and ideally also being an essential part of some group’s culture. (Scotland had been very accommodating.) A demonstration of his efforts in Hell had earned him one of the very, very, _very_ few commendations that he was actually proud of. Aziraphale, of course, had heard all about every step in the entire process, and had been there when Crowley had suffered through the experience that had convinced him that his work was complete.

And Aziraphale was now an amateur bagpiper.

Crowley’s worst fears were confirmed by the gleeful, proud-to-be-a-full-fledged-bastard tone of voice the angel used when he said, “Whenever we _do_ see each other again, I’d be _delighted_ to give you your own little private concert.”

“Ssshit.” Regardless if Aziraphale had even bothered _trying_ to improve his bagpipe skills, his _private concert_ was going to be deliberately _awful_.1 “What happened to making _cakes_?” Crowley whined.

“…I ran out of flour,” the bastard deadpanned. “…Although I did just order more! So if you’d like, if you _do_ come over, I could bake you something. Or, well, not today, I suppose. I think it will arrive Tuesday.”

Crowley groaned as he pushed himself into a seated position. “Right. Okay. Look,” he said to his phone. “Just—so we’re _perfectly_ clear here, I _have not_ missed you _at all_ this _entire_ time!”

Aziraphale heard it for the bluster it was, and Crowley was treated to the angel’s low chuckle. And then, and _then_ , he said _very_ softly, “…I’ve missed you, too, my dear.”

And _that_ did all sorts of warm bubbly things to the spot in Crowley’s chest where he still occasionally tried to convince himself he did _not_ have a heart.2 “…I’ll be right there,” he said mildly, and he disconnected the call and slid out of bed to see what sort of mood his Bentley was in.

1 As a matter of fact, Aziraphale had spent the last few months working diligently to determine just how bad of a bagpiper an angel could be. He was quite pleased with his results. He had also knitted a fifteen meter long black snake with a red belly and yellow eyes, which was currently occupying his couch (and much of the surrounding floor).

2 He did. Or at least, the (literally) damned thing was in his body, but he wasn’t entirely convinced it was _his_. It was engraved with the words **Property of Principality Aziraphale** , with the relatively recent addition of **(and the Bentley)** _._

**Author's Note:**

> I did not mean to write this. But I got the news yesterday, and this just sort of happened. I also wasn't going to POST anything during NaNoWriMo, but this is kind of time-relevant, so... yeah. 
> 
> I've had this headcannon about bagpipes for more than a year now. It's nice to get it into a story that I actually post. Crowley briefly reverts to Hittite for his profanity because according to the brief research I did, that's what they were speaking in the time and place with the first recorded evidence of bagpipes. Some of the sources I saw said that bagpipes are believed to have originated in Ancient Egypt, but none of them gave any reasoning for why they thought that, and they did all mention a sculpture of bagpipes on a Hittite slab at Euyuk in Anatolia, dated to 1000 BC.


End file.
